That we find a crystal or a poppy beautiful
means that we are less alone, that we are
more deeply inserted into existence
than the course of a single life
would lead us to believe.
~John Berger, English Painter

POPPIES
by Mary Oliver
The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitation

of bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn’t a place
in this world that doesn’t

sooner or later drown
in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while,
the roughage

shines like a miracle
as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the cold,

black, curved blade
from hooking forward—
of course
loss is the great lesson.

But I also say this: that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,

when it’s done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,

touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight—

and what are you going to do—
what can you do
about it—
deep, blue night?

~ from New and Selected Poems, Vol. I (Beacon Press, 1993)

Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart. ~Psalm 37:4   ✝

**These are all poppies grown in my yard from seed I sowed last fall, and as Beecher said, I shall never have a garden without them because they wash me in a river of earthly delight as Oliver puts it.